The party, now numbering fourteen, left Rewitt’s grave in a clearing under a cairn. As torturous as things had been with the old trapper, they were worse without him. Agneja knew her way around the wilderness, surely, but it was not a wilderness she was familiar with. Even with the sun to guide them eastward and the river to mark the path, they constantly stumbled upon cliffs, morasses, and other impassible obstacles which required costly backtracking. Animals were scarce, and edible plants scarcer, while the river never seemed to widen or deepen enough for the party to build rafts to ease their way.

It was seventy days, give or take, after Rewitt died that the first paving-stone appeared, indicating a long and forgotten road that had been overtaken by the ages.

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